Studies in Paradoxes
by whitchry9
Summary: Sherlock finds the world rather confusing. Too many things are paradoxical to made sense of it all. Will be a series of (likely) oneshots all based on a paradox.
1. Morton's Fork

Morton's fork: Choosing between unpalatable alternatives.

Sherlock knew that there was no right answer here. The could be no right answer.

Either he jumped off that building, convinced John he was dead, and convinced everyone he was a fake, or everyone he cared about would die.

There was no easy answer.

_Delay is the deadliest form of denial._

But he couldn't just stand there, frozen. That wouldn't do.

But really? His own suicide, even if faked, would cause immeasurable pain to John mostly, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and possibly even Mycroft.

But if he didn't, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and John would all die. _(John. His only friend. The only one who had every really understood, who had taken the time to get to know him, who actually seemed to like him. He would die. And there was no way Sherlock was going to let that happen.)_

And when he looked at his choices like that, they weren't choices; not really.

And in the end he chose the one that was the only option he could have ever chosen.

So he called John, cried to him, tried to explain in terms that meant something different, and watched him as he realized what was going on.

And he jumped.


	2. Self-Absorption Paradox

Self-absorption paradox: The contradictory association whereby higher levels of self-awareness are simultaneously associated with higher levels of psychological distress and with psychological well-being.

Sherlock groaned into a pillow from where he lay, face down on the couch.

"What is it now?" John snapped, rather fed up with Sherlock's moaning and groaning and general unpleasantness.

"Everything is so dull..." he mumured. He turned his head to face John. "Is it nice not being me?" he demanded.

"Oh yes," John replied, rolling his eyes. "It's a dream. Although," he said thoughtfully, "the only thing that may be harder than being you, is living with you."

Sherlock growled into the pillow, which John assumed was meant for him.

"I'm too clever for my own good," Sherlock muttered some time later, after having been mostly silent. There was no chance John was going to indulge him this time, but Sherlock continued even without a response. "It's well known that the most brilliant of people have been prone to the most... what's the word I'm looking for? The most... fickle of brains." He sat up, hair crazed and glared at John. "You made me watch that movie. The one with the robot. He had a brain the size of a planet and was reduced to menial tasks. Don't you get it?!" Sherlock looked rather mad now, and John was watching him with concern. "I'm the robot! I'm the robot! My enormous brain is reduced to solving homicides that toddlers could figure out." Sherlock flopped his face back into the pillow and moaned. "I'm the bloody robot, John."

Sherlock mumbled into the cushion a little longer, but John couldn't make any of it out.

When he finally stopped, John sighed, and told him entirely seriously, "That's the price of being brilliant Sherlock. It's dull and boring and tedious to deal with the mortals, but someone has to do it. And you are burdened with the sole task of being brilliant in a world full of idiots."

Sherlock pushed the pillow aside to peek at John. He looked suspicious, but John kept a straight face.

"Yes... I suppose you're right," Sherlock said slowly.

John figured that would be that, at least for a while, but Sherlock nixed that notion by falling off the couch.

"We're going out John," he announced, springing back up and recovering as if nothing happened. "My brain is going to rot if we just stay in here all day." He grabbed his coat off the hook and pulled his scarf around his neck.

"Are you going to do... something with your hair?" John asked, smirking as it stood up particularly oddly in one spot.

"Oh John," Sherlock sighed. "Have you not seen pictures of Einstein's hair?" He hopped down the top steps. "Us brilliant men must stick together!" he called, and continued down the rest.

John only smirked and followed Sherlock out the door.


	3. Paradox of Fiction

Paradox of fiction: How people can experience strong emotions from purely fictional things?

* * *

Sherlock arrived home to find John curled up on the couch with his laptop, trying extremely hard to blink back the tears in his eyes.

He stopped cold in his tracks when he realized what was going on. "John?" he called hesitantly. Sherlock may have been a genius, but that didn't mean he knew what to do what someone was hurt or crying. Especially if it was John.

"S'okay Sherlock," he sniffed. "Just reading something."

Sherlock frowned. "Something that made you cry?"

John nodded, sniffling again. He wiped his eyes will the back of his hand, which Sherlock wanted to point out did not help at all. But he held his tongue.

"What's it about?" he said instead, inching closer, trying to get a peek at the screen.

John twisted the screen away from him. "Nothing. It's just a story."

"Just a story?" Sherlock parroted. "A fictional story made you cry?"

"Yes," John replied, somewhat put off. "It's very well written and heart breaking."

Sherlock pondered that for a moment. "But it's not real," he insisted.

John sighed, sitting up more and setting his computer on the couch beside him. "That doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be real to make you feel things. That's what a good author does. They can make you feel things purely through their words."

Sherlock mulled over that for a moment before quipping "I guess you're not such a good author then."

John groaned and whipped a pillow at Sherlock.

"Not nice," he scolded.

Sherlock shrugged. "Can I read this story?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked skeptically.

"It would make an interesting experiment," Sherlock noted.

John shrugged. "I suppose it would. Just don't make fun of it okay?" he pleaded, handing Sherlock the laptop.

Sherlock only grunted, heading off to his room to see what made John cry.

Sherlock was very glad for having made the decision to move, because John didn't see the tears that could have possible made their way, uninvited, down his face as he read the story.

He wasn't sure if that made the experiment a success or a failure. He sure wasn't going to ask John.


End file.
